


Make My Bed and Light the Light

by galacticproportions



Series: Veterans' Affairs [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Rimming, The inevitable decline of the flesh, Veterans' affairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticproportions/pseuds/galacticproportions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The springs and the bedposts / are ready the minute we come in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make My Bed and Light the Light

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about 20 years after the end of the war.

When Poe gets home, the apartment is dark and smells empty. The only sound is BB-8 hooting an interrogatory note, then trundling resignedly over to their charging cradle. He drops his duffel on the floor, irritation sharpening all his movements: he was picturing a warm bright room with Finn at the center of it, waking from a doze maybe to smile welcome, and this is the opposite of that and he feels it as a personal insult.

There's a note on the pillow on a scrap of flimsi: _Parliament's in session. Back in 6 local days. I miss you. I love you._ Poe wasn't able to send word ahead, so Finn must have left the note just in case. Probably if he'd gotten back before Poe he would've torn it up. Thinking of that makes Poe feel a tiny bit more generous, but not much. The bed looks wide and bleak to him, even though he spent the last twenty standard hours in the cockpit and a week before that mainly in a smelly, poorly drained basement with the head of a dying woman on his lap. His work on Uyya hasn't led to anything good, so far, for the people who called him in.

 He strips and showers off and gets into the bed anyway. He doesn't know when Finn left the note, but local days are shorter than standard days, so that's something to be grateful for. He tucks it under the pillow.

 The next day he cleans his clothes, goes to the market, makes rice balls and greens with the sour sauce Finn hates. Manages to have a civil conversation with a neighbor. Smokes a joint out the window, not really looking at the pink sky. Tries to get into the history of Naboo, co-written by a human and a gungan, that he left halfway through the first chapter when he responded to this call. Reads the same sentence over and over until he can't keep his eyes open.

 Poe wakes in the night to no more than a soft sound and a shape in the darkness. When the mattress shifts beside him, Poe breathes out with utter satisfaction, presses back into Finn's warmth.

 He wakes again from an incredibly erotic dream about three people, two of whom are dead (even in the dream, he knew, he was surprised, but so glad to see them that it didn't matter), to the incredibly erotic but somewhat unexpected reality of Finn sucking his cock. He makes an undignified noise, half-moan, half-exclamation, and Finn lifts his head, grins, kisses his way back up.

"Keep doing that," Poe suggests.

 "I was mostly just killing time until you woke up."

 "My dream man." But then he remembers the actual dream, and feels unsettled. Shakes it off. He traces the rim of one of Finn's ears with a fingertip. It's raining--he can smell it through the open window, and hear it mixed with the cooing sounds of the blitiri birds that live on the roof and shit all over the courtyard. He says, "You have anywhere to be this morning?"

 "Here."

 "Mmm." Poe wriggles a bit so that he'll be able to slide his dick along the seam of Finn's thigh, shifting up and angling his neck to make room for more kisses, which Finn supplies. "While you're here," he says eventually, "you wanna fuck me through this mattress?"

 "Very much," Finn says seriously, sitting up and sweeping the covers off the bed and looking down at Poe, still serious. "You look so good, you know that? Let me see a little more, open up for me."

 Poe reaches down and spreads himself, exposed, thrilled to the core, like Finn's gaze alone is entering him and driving through his body. Finn inches down the bed and licks him thoroughly, consideringly, without haste, till Poe has to fight to stay still, has to _concentrate,_ all the nerves in his body wired in parallel to his asshole and yearning toward Finn's tongue. He wants it to stop and he never wants it to stop. Eventually Finn sits back and looks smug, and Poe makes a face at him, and then they're both cracking up. Lube, fingers, Poe's still laughing when Finn pushes into him and hovers above him and smiles his beautiful smile. He moves his hands out of the way and gets some leverage against Finn's shoulders, pushing and clutching in heartbeat rhythm, slide out and thrust back--

 --and then Finn stops moving, and Poe doesn't feel as full as he did a minute ago. "Damn it," Finn says, looking frustrated.

 This has of course happened before, to both of them--no one's body cooperates a hundred percent of the time. Poe moves a hand again to stroke Finn's cheek. "What would you rather? Stay in a minute and see, or try again later?"

 "Ugh," Finn says. "Try again later, I guess." He pulls out and rolls onto his back.

 Poe wants to ask questions: _Are you okay? Something on your mind?_ To make suggestions: _We could go back to Plan A._ To soothe: _You don't need to fuck me to make me happy._ His default, throughout his life, has been that adding more words to a situation is the way to improve it. But the years have taught him a little about listening and silence, and he wants to bring those things like gifts to Finn now. He half-rolls and kisses Finn's temple.

 "Don't be _reassuring_ ," Finn says.

 Poe says nothing, kisses the same place again, licking away sweat.

 "I know it's not a big deal," Finn says.

 Poe gets up on an elbow to kiss the spot under Finn's eye, the one closest to him.

 " _You_ don't care," Finn says, "do you?"

 "No," Poe says in his ear, "I don't care." He lips at Finn's earlobe, not demanding, just sociable. "You?"

 Silence, in which Poe just drinks in the smells of Finn's hair oil and skin, the ripe smell of his pits and the rumpled smell of their bed, concentrating on these to keep himself from speaking ( _Are you worried about...? Can I do anything?_ ) as hard as he had to concentrate before to keep still under Finn's tongue.

 "It makes me feel old," Finn says. "Weak."

 Poe kisses his temple again. "Scary," he says. "I'm not making fun, I mean it."

 "Yeah." Finn shifts toward him, kisses him softly and with purpose. Deeper, more, till the slow fizz of arousal gradually swamps both Poe's concern and his itch to say the right, the perfect thing. "Maybe you'd like to fuck _me_ through the mattress instead," Finn suggests into the place where Poe's shoulder meets his neck. "Unless there's something else you'd like more."

 "Any combination," Poe says lightly. "Turn over, how about?"

 Finn gives him a look, like _Don't try to be helpful,_ or possibly _You were doing so well,_ but he does turn over, shoulders bunching and stretching, and rests his head on his arms. Poe drapes himself over and makes a real, methodical effort to kiss every inch of Finn's shoulders and back, and when Finn stirs a little impatiently Poe says, "Sorry, did you remember somewhere you had to be after all?" and grins when he feels Finn's laugh, a small but real one, shake his frame under Poe's lips.

 For all of that, he's hard now and ready and he has a feeling, unfounded but persistent, like he doesn't want to waste time. He works slicked fingers in, just enough to make it possible to slide his dick in instead, and the sound Finn makes--not a groan but a _sigh,_ one that Poe recognizes because he made it himself last night when Finn got into bed--almost undoes him right there, not in orgasm but in tears. He gets hold of himself, fucks slowly until he doesn't want to and can feel that Finn doesn't want him to, wants him harder and rougher and more, and he flings himself into it, sweating and cursing, "Oh _fuck,_ I love this, fuck back towards me, let me feel how you like it, c'mon," with just one corner of his mind saying, _Don't tell him to come for you, let this be whatever it is._ Of the two of them, Finn's usually the cryer, but Poe comes with a noise that's suspiciously like a sob.

 "How you feeling," he says, when he can.

 "Good," Finn says on a long exhale. "So good."

 They disengage and Poe lies next to him again. The rain-smelling breeze from the window cools his sweaty skin without drying it. He wants nothing besides what's happening to him right now, but he says, idly, "You hungry? I made rice balls."

 "Not if you put that nasty sauce on them. You must've been home for at least a day before me, then, if you had time to cook?"

 "A night and a day and half a night."

 Finn says, "I saw the news from Uyya when I was already in the spaceport on my way home. They were playing it in the waiting area. Just a little throwaway mention, you know, 'unrest.' You have no idea how good it felt to see BB-8 blinking at me when I walked in that door."

 "I got out," Poe says, as things like context and the world outside their room come back into unpleasant focus, "but they're still there. You know how that goes. Best I can say is that both sides have about the same number of guns now. But it's bad, and I don't know that this one's gonna get better--the continental government is gonna double down, and the Parliament won't intervene when they're killing what are supposedly their own people."

 Finn says nothing.

 "Sorry, that wasn't fair, I don't mean you. Just sometimes it feels like shoveling the sea. I guess I feel weak too."

 "I don't think it was unfair," Finn says. "I can't figure out how to do the thing you're talking about, or even if the Parliament _should_ do it, I mean if that's how it could get done, but you're not wrong for talking about it. I've been thinking about it since the last time something like this happened, after you came back from Oone."

 Right. Because once Finn knows that something is wrong, he'll immediately start thinking about what could change it--not just what _he_ could do to change it, but what anyone and everyone would need to do. He'll do it on a battlefield and in a grimy warehouse and in a meeting room. He'll do it lying in bed, stirred out of his post-sex daze, with a mix of come and lube still seeping from his ass. He did it a long time ago, when he saw a stranger about to die in pain, and made a decision.

 Poe is silent now because there aren't enough words in the galaxy, in any of the languages he knows.

 "I didn't say anything about it because I didn't have anything useful to say yet," Finn is going on, "but if I think of anything I'll tell you."

 "Okay," Poe says, still in awe--not that this quality of Finn's is news to him, far from it, but seeing it resurface is like seeing the starfield spread out before him, each time. "Good."

 "I don't know why you had to cook something I hate," Finn says, obviously trying to steer the conversation back into a calmer quadrant.

 "I made it for me," Poe says. "I didn't know when you were getting back."

 "Didn't you get my note?"

 "Yeah, but I didn't know when you left it." For a minute, like a hangover from his old self, Poe thinks about groping around in the bedding and re-finding the note later in a less sappy place. But they're long past the stage of thinking in terms of ammunition. "It's under the pillow," he says, and puts his head back on the pillow in question, inching so his shoulder's touching Finn's, and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The summary quote is the entirety of the poem "Long Relationship in Bed" by Kenneth Koch. The title is from "Bye Bye Blackbird," a song whose origins I don't know, but it's very good to sing while washing dishes.


End file.
